


Quod Possit Videre (What They Cannot See) | Michael Langdon X Reader

by ave_michael



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ave_michael/pseuds/ave_michael
Summary: When Michael wakes from nightmares in the days leading up to the Apocalypse, Y/N is there to comfort him in the ways that only she can.





	Quod Possit Videre (What They Cannot See) | Michael Langdon X Reader

_Evil. Spawn of Satan. Angel of Darkness. Antichrist._

These were the words they used to describe him, both in hushed, terrified whispers and with brazen bravado, depending on how they perceived their own power, their own status as the elite.

These would never be the words that she chose.

All his acolytes, thinking they knew him so well, but she wondered how shocked they would be if they could only see him in the moments that she shared with him. How differently everything might have turned out if someone else, anyone else, could have taken the care to notice when he was afraid, nervous, unsure. He was so often all of those things.

But they heard what they wanted to hear and saw what they wanted to see, and more and more, he was becoming adept at hiding his vulnerability from everyone.

From everyone except Y/N.

Even Ms. Mead could not share with Michael what Y/N did. Y/N was there when no one else was, when his powerful, confident facade fell away, revealing the scared, timid boy who hid behind the mask. 

Only Y/N was there on the nights when Michael writhed in his sleep, calling out in fear and in pain, twisting the sheets up under his chin with white-knuckled hands. No, they were alone each time she was woken by his cries and reached out to place a gentle hand on his bare shoulder. 

Michael jolted awake at the contact. Sometimes he lashed out in his fear, and Y/N always steeled herself for this reaction, drawing up her own magic in defense until he became fully conscious and realized who she was.

When he did, his entire demeanor shifted, his expression softening, his body relaxing from the tension of his fight-or-flight response. His clear blue eyes clouded with tears, but before they could spill over, he crumpled forward into her lap. She held him there and ran soothing hands over his back as he shuddered with sobs. 

And he clung to her, his silent anchor, his strength when he had none of his own.

His worshippers would never see her strength. Y/N knew, regardless of the situation or setting, how to fade into the background.

“It’s safer that way,” Michael had told her. “If they knew how powerful you are-- how much you mean to me-- they would only try to exploit you.”

Y/N was a constant presence at his side, flanking him along with Ms. Mead. Y/N would smile tight, dark-lipped smiles at Michael’s proclamations and watched silently as he commanded the impending apocalypse.

But on nights like these, when his past tormented him, she was there. She knew that she could never truly heal his wounds; they were too old and far too deep. All of her magic, whether innate or acquired through study, was useless.

But there was a magic in her presence. Who else was willing to let him fall apart, and would stay by his side to help him pick up the pieces?

Always, there would come a moment when he quieted, tears all spent. Tonight was no different. He sat up, trying to catch his breath, refusing to look her in the eye. Ashamed.

Only when Y/N reached out to brush away the tears staining Michael’s cheek did he look up at her, locking his eyes onto hers. He leaned into her touch, and she leaned into him. She tasted the salt on his skin when she kissed him, first on his cheek, then on his lips.

It was soft at first, lips chastely closed, but their kisses never stayed that way for long. His mouth opened against hers, his tongue entreating entry and then moving against hers languidly. Sloppy, slow kisses that made her want to take care of him in other ways.

He pulled back, but let his forehead rest against hers. “I need you,” he whispered, voice ragged with sorrow and desire. “I need you, I need--”

She quieted his pleas with another kiss, letting it express all that words were inadequate to say: I’m here. I won’t leave you.

She lay back on the mattress and pulled him down beside her. Placing kisses against the side of his neck, she trailed her hand down his torso, skimming her fingers over his flat belly. He gasped and squirmed at the ticklish sensation. And then she slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his black boxers, freeing him from the silky fabric. His body snapped to attention as she took him in hand, working up and down his shaft, which grew hard and urgent under her ministrations.

“Y/N,” he moaned. “Can I-- May I touch you?”

“Please, Michael,” she whispered in response, and shifted to grant him access. His hands shook with need as he pulled up the hem of her nightgown and slipped his fingers inside of her panties. He cupped her mound, feeling the soft flesh before gently parting her and pressing one finger inside.

Y/N let out a quiet moan. Encouraged, Michael added a second finger and slowly pumped them in and out, pressing into the spot that had her involuntarily opening her legs wider, desperate for more of him.

He looked into her eyes and bit his lip, the uncertainty still there, as though he could barely believe that she would want him, even with the evidence slicking his hand. She wanted to maintain her composure, to be the strong one, to keep it together. 

She could see the question forming, but before he could even ask, in that sweet, almost innocent way of his, she lost the battle against herself and begged him: “Michael, I need more-- I need you.”

He was on her immediately, pulling down her panties and pushing her legs open. He positioned himself at her opening. He balanced his weight on one forearm, guiding himself inside of her. He kept his eyes on hers, their bodies close as he tried to soak up as much contact with her as possible. 

He was gentle and deliberate as he thrust into her. Though he was capable of brutality, that night he handled her as though she were fragile, precious. She knew, as she always did, that no matter what might happen, what else he would be forced to do out in the world, he would never hurt her.

He whimpered as he fucked her, the sounds needy and desperate. They shot straight to her core; this need got her off almost as much as his body did, heightening each sensation. Her walls clenched around him. Her hips rose to meet each thrust, each rolling surge that hit her directly where the pleasure was strongest.

He moved faster, his thrusts becoming harder as he struggled to keep control. There was a questioning expression on his face, and she knew what he was waiting for. Soon enough, she came apart, all hoarse cries and clutching hands drawing him even closer, refusing to let him stop. 

Only then did he grant himself permission to take from her body what he truly needed. She watched his face as the release overcame him, his full lips parting as though in surprise that someone as wretched as he could feel anything so divine. When he spilled himself inside of her, she could not help but think about how young he looked, how angelic, all smooth cheeks and golden curls, and those blue eyes that went dark with pleasure.

Afterward, he lay his head on her chest and fell asleep, lulled by the rhythm of her heart and by the movements of her fingers through his hair, untangling the snarls as he dozed. That time, her presence was enough to keep the nightmares at bay, and he did not release her until morning.

He didn’t know what he would do without her. She didn’t know why no one could see in him what she saw.


End file.
